


Nocturnal Mumbling

by ToxoplasmaFabulousa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, One Shot, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxoplasmaFabulousa/pseuds/ToxoplasmaFabulousa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for bighound-littlebird on Tumblr:</p><p>"Sandor wakes up in the night to relieve himself. When he returns he hears Sansa murmuring in her sleep and she murmurs a man’s name. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocturnal Mumbling

If there was one thing Sandor hated about Winterfell, it was the cold stone floors. When he had first moved to Winterfell with the rest of Sansa’s host he constantly wore his socks to bed just to avoid having his first conscious thought of the morning be “Bloody freezing floors.”

Years later, though, he made it a point to sleep in nothing. He preferred to be swathed in the bear skin throws that littered his bed. More importantly, he preferred to feel the soft skin and warmth of his lovely, gorgeous, perfect wife. Now his first conscious thoughts were usually of the beautiful little bird he woke up with every morning.

However, his first conscious thought upon waking in the middle of the night was about his full bladder. He pushed himself out of bed, his feet immediately protesting the change from their toasty bed to the cold floor, and began to lumber towards the chamber pot.

Sometime throughout the night the fire had burnt out, so Sandor was forced to navigate his pitch black chambers without making enough racket to wake the Others. He threw another log on the fire and then padded over to the chamber pot to make water. The sound echoed off the sides of the empty chamber pot enough to stir his sleeping wife.

“Mmmhnf sweet heart, Bael, honey hmmm.” She murmured. 

Sandor froze. 

_Who the fuck is Bael?_ He inwardly growled. 

He shook himself off and pattered back over to their bed. Slipping under the covers, he gently placed a hand on Sansa’s shoulder. She rolled towards him in her half-awake state. 

“Bael?” she muttered as her eyes began to flutter open. 

Sandor clenched his jaw. He could have been mistaken the first time, but now he was sure that Sansa was dreaming of this whoreson Bael, whoever the fuck he was. 

His mind immediately began to shuffle through every face he knew. Bael was a wildling name, though it was uncommon. He had only met two Bael’s in his life. There was the Bael that was barely more than a boy who had come to Winterfell seeking refuge about two years ago. Sansa had sent him to live with tanner so that he could learn the craft. 

No, that couldn’t be the Bael that Sansa was dreaming of. 

The only other Bael that Sandor knew was a middle aged man. He was a wildling that had fought with Winterfell’s host to dispel the Others. He had a craggy, weather beaten face. He wasn’t a good looking man to begin with, and when he had lost his nose to frost bite, it had made him even less comely. 

_Still better looking than you, Dog._ Sandor thought bitterly.

“Sandor?” Sansa chirped. Sandor refocused his eyes on Sansa’s face. She was completely awake now. Her large blue eyes gazed at him with a measure of concern.

He only grunted in reply.

“What’s wrong? You look so angry…” she trailed off, her voice barely more than a whisper. Sandor hesitated to reply. The only sound was the crackling of the log in the fire, its comforting sound in sharp contrast to the icy silence hanging between them. 

“Who’s Bael?” Sandor ground out. Sansa blushed and quickly dropped her eyes. His heart clenched as it reminded him of all the other times she had averted her eyes from his face. Years later and with four pups between them she still couldn’t look at him. He began to turn away angrily.

Sansa’s arm shot out to grab his wrist. She brought her eyes back to his. She stared at him, right through him, confidently as if she knew that she had inadvertently angered him by looking away. It was enough to still him.

“Have you ever heard the song of Bael the Bard?” She asked. Sandor gave a non-committal grunt. “I didn’t think so,” she said with one of her soft smiles illuminating her face.

“It’s an old Northern song. Bael was the King-Beyond-The-Wall and he came to Winterfell dressed as a singer. He stole the Lord’s only child, a beautiful maiden, as payment for his entertainment. The Lord of Winterfell sent his riders all throughout the land to find them.

“But they were unable to. Months later, though, the Lord heard the sound of a squalling babe coming from the crypts. When he went down there, he found his daughter holding her child, Bael’s child, at her breast. She had fallen in love with Bael and wanted to have his child. So she remained in the crypts until she gave birth and knew that no one could kill the next Lord Stark. My father never told us that story growing up. I heard it from one of the wildlings that work in the kitchen and immediately fell in love with it.” She finished.

“So you still have you head full of songs, is that the way of it?” Sandor chuckled. Sansa smirked up at him. “You said his name in your sleep and…“ Sandor didn’t know how to explain why he was so angry.

“And you got jealous?” She concluded. It was her turn to giggle at him. “I fell asleep thinking of that tale. I do so love the name. It is a strong Northern name.”

“A strong Northern name for a strong Northern boy?” Sandor guessed.

Sansa reached down and smoothed her hand over her large stomach. She was seven moons along now and had been put on bed rest to await their fifth child’s birth. The Maester had said that this child was much larger than the others had been and Sansa was not carrying it as well.

“Well, I don’t have any other family names I would care to give him, and we already have a Florian so I thought Bael would be fitting.” She explained.

“Yes,” Sandor leaned down and kissed her swollen stomach before leaning up and kissing her as well. “Bael would be very fitting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to put off studying for finals by brushing off the old writing chops and filling this prompt.


End file.
